Stages
by Coloursfall
Summary: A RED Medic tries his hardest to cope with his feelings about the loss of his team's Scout, and his path to emotional recovery.
1. Denial

A/N: This is my first TF2 fanfic! It'll have a bit of gore/slightly creepy descriptions of medical things. If you see anything wrong with any French/German/other languages, or anything else for that matter, do tell me.

Have fun and tell me what you think!

* * *

Medic stared down at the pale corpse that lay on his table, his dark brown eyes scanning the bare, pale skin of the young man who had been so lively just the day before. He tried not to look above the boy's shoulders; despite the countless times that the man of medicine had seen wounds like this, and worse, it always unnerved him to look at the faces of dead children. Even if Scout wasn't really a child…he behaved like one. He had that youthful charm and grace about him that one could admire, if they looked past his loudmouthed and obnoxious habits.

It didn't help that the teen had a large and gruesome gunshot wound on the left side of his head. Medic had had to clean the seeping hole before the (rather unnecessary, in his opinion, but it was standard procedure) autopsy. It had broke the German's heart to see the Scout so still, cold, and pale, in sharp contrast to his usual fast-paced and excitable self. He had been fond of the young man, despite his sometimes-harsh treatment of him, and it was painful to see him spread out naked and cold on the metal autopsy table.

One of Medic's gloved hands hovered over the polished metal tray at his side, before carefully plucking a scalpel from the small array of equipment that sat there quietly, waiting to be used. He pressed the small metal blade to the Scout's left shoulder, hand shaking. He shut his eyes, adjusted his glasses, and drew a breath to calm himself, nose wrinkling slightly at the scent of death and chemicals that lingered in the room. No matter how long he was around it, he could never get used to the smell. After a moment, Medic pressed the blade into the creamy skin of his former comrade, cutting a y-shaped incision from both shoulders to just under the young man's navel. There was little blood, and medic had expected that; corpses didn't bleed.

But even if he had expected it, that didn't lessen the sudden crushing weight that descended in the doctor's chest; this made it so much more _real_ and painful. The boy was dead. Dead, gone, and not coming back, not ever. Medic placed the scalpel back on the tray and retreated to a corner of the room, cradling his head in his trembling hands, mussing his hair up more than he would normally have liked, but he didn't pay that any attention. He stood there in a deafening silence for a few minutes, head in his gloved hands and leaning back into the white wall behind him.

He finally looked up at the cold body on the table a few feet away. His glasses were askew, and he reached up to adjust them yet again, and then fixed his hair. This was very unprofessional. He had done countless autopsies before for a variety of reasons, and this one made him behave like this? He should be ashamed. His teachers would be ashamed. His comrades would be ashamed. This was a war, and here he was weeping over the corpse of the Scout… He drew a sharp breath. He could do this. He stepped toward the table again, picked up the scalpel, and pressed it back to the wound.

Medic shut his eyes and put it down again. This was ridiculous. Why was it so hard for him to just do his _job_? He opened his eyes and stared down at Scout's face this time. At least _he_ seemed calm about this, his handsome features pale and stiff, but calm. Medic felt his face twitch into a smile, remembering how rare it had been to see the boy's face so still and serene in life. He extended a hand and cupped the right side of the boy's face gently, brushing a few strands of stray hair off his forehead and back into the short dark red-brown mat with his other hand. He did his best to avoid looking at the wound.

"You never stop making trouble for me, ja?" he crooned to the corpse, smiling weakly.

Medic caressed Scout's cold face gently, the red rubber gloves over his hands standing out strongly like blood against Scout's pale skin and the cold metal table. He stood there, quietly stroking the cold flesh, for more time than he could count. He knew he had to do this, but it somehow hurt to think about it, and so he stood as still as a statue, staring down at the boy on his table.

* * *

"_Hey, doc? Whatcha up to? Reading somethin__'__? Cool, cool. What__'__s it about? _

_Medic looked up from his medical text, a frown playing on his face. __ His sharp gaze was met with the bright blue eyes of the youngest member of their little military division, and the boy bounced excitedly in place, leaning on the Medic's table. The two stared at each other for a few seconds, before the boy spoke again._

"_Don't feel like talking? That's okay. Lemmie see." Scout tried again, peering down at the open book in Medic's lap. _

_He blinked down at the tiny print and black-and-white photographs in silence for a few moments, his brow furrowed as if concentrating, before throwing his hands in the air and letting out an exasperated sound. The boy was rather comical when annoyed or frustrated with something he didn't understand (which was often), and Medic couldn't help but chuckle at the boy's behaviour. When he caught wind of the older man's laughter, Scout wheeled around on his heels and glared daggers at him, face scrunched up in annoyance. He didn't say anything, but made a sound that made Medic think of a cross between cat when you poked it in the face and a grunt. _

"_I am sorry for laughing, Scout, but you are…most amusing. You vill have to forgive me." Medic said, trying very hard to keep the composure he was so well-known for around the base._

_Scout's face immediately relaxed and he cocked a jaunty grin, lightly punching the doctor in the shoulder with a bandaged hand. Medic wondered briefly why the boy always wore those arm wrappings, but pushed it out of his mind after marking that detail unimportant. Scout's change of mood was a bit sudden, but he was prone to such mood swings and quirks, and Medic paid it little mind._

"_Aw, It's okay doc. Youse just having a bit of fun, huh? Yeah, I understand. Well, I better get goin', Hardhat was sayin' earlier that he wanted me to run some errands. He said he'd gimmie some of his booze if I did good. Fuckin' sweet, huh? Later!" Scout announced at a mile a minute before rocketing out of the infirmary as fast as he could._

_Medic chuckled to himself again. The boy had to do everything as fast as he could, it was a wonder that he managed to have that much energy. The doctor smiled fondly and reached a gloved hand to a small picture frame that sat behind a stack of medical reports on the desk. The picture in the frame was a bit faded with age, but Medic knew what it depicted very well; a young man with his left arm hooked around the neck of an older man, both standing in front of a brand-new clinic in __Stuttgart, Germany. The pair was smiling widely, though the older man was a bit more subdued than the young teen. _

_Medic smiled. He remembered when this picture was taken. It had been a good day, one of the best he'd had with his son after the death of his wife. He placed the frame back behind the stack of papers and returned to his book. Scout reminded the man of science of his son…perhaps that was why he could put up with the boy's behavior? He pushed the thought out of his mind._

_Little more than a day later, Scout's bloodied body had been carried into the infirmary by Engineer with a bullet in his skull, courtesy of the Builder's League United's Sniper._

* * *

Medic picked up the scalpel again, trying to still his shaking hands. He managed to regain his composure after a few minutes of carefully controlled breathing, and pressed the small blade down, finishing the cuts. He then hooked his gloved fingers under the edges of the cuts, gently peeling back the skin. He fought back tears as he worked, going as quickly as his professional mind would allow so he could escape this little corner of hell. After the skin was peeled away, he pinned it down and picked up a small saw, placing the scalpel down on the tray. He held the saw in his hand gripping it tight, and swallowed hard. He brought the saw down to cut away the cartilage connecting the ribs to breastbone, biting his lower lip.

He could do this. He could…

Medic finally emerged from the autopsy room, shedding his blood-stained coat and gloves as he walked, not caring where they landed. He looked weary and tired, his shoulders hunched and large rings around his eyes. He wandered around the infirmary in silence for a minute, and then glanced back at the locked steel door to the room he had fled before heading up the concrete stairs to the rest of the base.

The halls were pretty quiet at this time of night, the overhead lights mostly dimmed, making the windowless hallways dark and haunted-looking. Medic stared at the floor the entire way to the small mess hall, his boots tapping loudly on the linoleum tiles. He didn't know how he was going to face the rest of the team after his little…incident, though if he kept his usual mask up well enough, none of them would know how distressed he was really feeling. Medic smiled. He was very good at keeping his façade up, the cold, stiff mask that made most of the team fear him.

He looked up when he came to the double doors of the mess hall, and gently placed his palm on one of them, drawing a deep breath. After a few moments, he pushed the doors open and strode in, head held high and mouth pulled into a frown. A few of the other men in the room turned to look at him, but they quickly glanced down at the table again. Medic picked out a chair near the doors, depositing himself into it with a sigh. The room was quiet except of the soft clanking of utensils against the table and plates, and the soft tap-tap of Spy flicking his butterfly knife open and shut.

The silence was heavy in the room, none of the men looking at each other or talking, and it made Medic very nervous. They _knew._ He knew that they knew, and he could practically _smell_ the pity that was coming off them in waves. He gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his graying hair before adjusting his glasses again. The room was still mostly quiet, and the tapping of Spy's knife was starting to get on his nerves. He glanced up at the Frenchman, sitting there looking so smug in the balaclava he never took off, flicking that meticulously cleaned knife. Bastard.

Spy noticed the fiery glare that Medic was giving him right away and flashed a smile, opening the knife again in a graceful motion with another flick. His smile grew wider when he noticed the muscles in the German's neck tense, his eyes narrow, and his fist clench in his hair. So Engineer was right…Scout's untimely demise had done _something_ to the man. He cleared his throat and broke the choking silence.

"Is something wrong, mon ami?" He purred, thick French accent making him sound much smugger than he had intended.

Medic growled and got to his feet, not bothering to push the chair out properly and sending it clattering to the floor. The loud sound made a few people jump, and a few softer clatters marked their forks being dropped. Spy smiled calmly as ever, his brown eyes locked on the doctor. So easy to provoke…

Medic opened his mouth as if he was going to say something; his nose scrunched up in annoyance, but seemed to think better of it and shook his head, turned on his heel, and stomped out of the room. Another awkward silence settled on the room as the door swung lazily, all but Spy seeming nervous and confused about what had just happened. Spy continued to lazily flick his knife open and shut, a contented smile on his face.

"So there _is_ something wrong, then…? Je suis intrigué." He purred to himself.

* * *

"_Doc…?" Engineer said softly, adjusting his hardhat after gently placing the limp corpse on the medical exam table in the infirmary._

"_Yes Engineer…?" came the weak reply, Medic glancing over at the Texan._

"_Are ya okay?" He tried again, moving to place a hand on the doctor's shoulder._

_The other man moved away from the touch, removing his hand from his face and shaking his head. He kept clanking over at Scout's body frowning, his head shaking back and forth longer than was necessary. He was muttering under his breath, too softly for Engineer to make out what he was saying, and his eyes were wide, almost panicked. He swallowed hard and smiled weakly._

"_Ja. Ja…I am fine, my friend. You should get back to…to your machines. The day's fighting is not yet over, and you never know who will try and destroy them!" The German said, the lilt of his voice a tad higher than normal._

_Engineer frowned, but adjusted his goggles on his face and left the room, glancing over his shoulder at the doctor before shutting the door gently behind him. Medic stood stock-still for a few moments, eyes slowly wandering over to the blood-stained body on his table. He crept closer, slowly, ever so slowly, and placed his hands on the edge of the cool surface, leaning over to look Scout in the face. This couldn't be… No, it could not be true, Scout was too full of life, of spunk and fire and energy, and he was too _alive_ to be sprawled out on the autopsy table like this! _

_Medic slammed the sides of his fists against the table and squeezed his eyes shut. He stood there shaking for a few moments, and then opened his eyes again. This could not be his Scout, the boy who was always flitting in and out of the infirmary with that wide infectious grin on his face, the boy that would boast and tell jokes about that day's fighting like it was nothing more than a baseball game to him._

_This lifeless corpse could _never_ be Scout._

_

* * *

_

Medic sat on the small, lumpy, but well-kept bed in his bunk, staring at his hands. He didn't leave them bare very often, so it was…a bit odd, even to him, to see the pale skin that lay beneath the ever-present red gloves. He turned his hands palm-down and examined the tops, noting with a frown that his fingers were trembling. That wasn't good for someone in his profession. He had let Spy get to him, and now he was quite stressed and oddly angry. With a sigh, he buried his face in his hands and just sat there.

A few thoughts and memories kept replaying themselves in his mind; the days before Scout's death, his anger at himself, his team, and mostly at Spy. He wasn't quite sure _why_ he was angry at Spy, but he knew that something about the man's cocky tone and smirk had just made him loose it. He removed his face from his hands. He never lost his temper around his colleagues; he made a very careful point to _not _do precisely that. Spy, that smarmy bastard, had made him lose his temper… He bit his lower lip. He needed to relax, but how…?

When the door to the room opened slowly, but with a loud creak that pulled him out of his thoughts, Medic nearly fell off his bunk, but managed to keep (most of) his composure. He looked up to shoot a weak glare at the one who dare intrude on him, but his face softened when he noticed that it was just Heavy, who was carrying a tray in one massive hand. The large Russian looked worried, and carefully made his way to medic's bed, placing the tray in his lap. It was rather endearing to see how sweet and gentle the impossibly large man could be when off the battlefield, and Medic couldn't help but smile slightly.

"Doctor left before he could eat." Heavy said, his deep voice laced with worry. "Is something wrong?"

Medic sighed and leaned into the large man, a rare display of affection. He shut his eyes and just sat there for a few moments, before speaking.

"Ja, mein Heavy. But you do not need to vorry about it," he muttered.

Heavy wrapped a thick arm around the doctor's shoulders, frowning but not pressing the issue. He was around Medic often enough to pick out when the man was in need of quiet comfort, and this was most definitely one of those times.

"You will be okay, doctor."

"I hope so," Medic whispered.


	2. Anger

Hello folks, and welcome to Chapter Two! Sorry for the delay, I had a small bout of illness and writer's block for a while. Thanks for the reviews and good comments, they make me feel better about my skills as a writer, ahaha. I have about three more chapters planned if all goes well, so hopefully I can get those done without much delay.

I don't quite know how I feel about this chapter; it's shorter than the last and is a bit...odd, I'm not sure. And I'm bad at Engie's dialog, ahg. Again, if you notice anything wrong that my betas may have missed, do tell me. Read, enjoy, and review!

* * *

Medic spent most of the next few days in his small infirmary, tending to his wounded allies when they needed him, and sometimes wandering out and trailing after Heavy with the medigun, but that took much gentle coaxing from the larger man. The German's quiet mourning seemed to unnerve the others, and a heady silence settled on the base.

Finally, after nearly a week of this behavior, Medic emerged from the infirmary a few minutes before the day's fighting began. He had the Übersaw clenched tight in one crimson-gloved hand, his face a steel mask. Spy inched closer to the doctor, a small smile on his face as he carefully extracted a cigarette from his case, slipping the smooth metal object back into his coat.

"Bonjour, docteur. I trust you are well?" he purred, lighting the cigarette.

Medic gave him a disdainful look. This didn't deter Spy at all, the Frenchman just smiling wider than he had before and placing a hand on Medic's shoulder. The other man shook it off, brandishing the Übersaw threateningly in Spy's direction before taking a step away. This just served to add more fuel to the fire of Spy's amusement, a desire to see how far he could push the German before he snapped. He was just dying to know what was wrong with the other man, and he had a suspicion it had to do with the recent…passing of their Scout.

Medic just glared daggers at Spy, his round glasses low on his nose and head tilted to one side. The man was up to something, this he knew; he was _always_ up to something or other. That burning anger from before rose up in his gut, festering and bubbling like swamp water as he stared at the Frenchman, and he _knew_ that the other knew. The man knew and he was going to _do something_ with that knowledge, what exactly Medic didn't know, but it made him angry in ways he couldn't explain, even to himself.

He imagined shoving the blade of his saw into the smarmy bastard's face, right into his left eye, pushing into his frontal lobe, shutting down his vocal abilities and causing severe, irreparable, and fatal brain trauma. He could _just_ picture the blood and ocular fluid draining from the wound, staining that balaclava he always wore a dark cloudy black. He could _just_ hear the shill screams of pain before the saw blade jammed roughly into the brain…

"Doctor?"

Heavy's deep voice roused him from his morbid fantasy, and Medic turned his head slightly to gaze up at his large friend. The massive man had a worried frown on his face, cradling his minigun gently in his hands as he stared down at the doctor. Medic swallowed hard, and then looked down at the floor.

"You are shaking, doctor. Are you alright?"

Medic nodded weakly, his jaw twitching when the silky soft purr of Spy's laughter reached his ears. If only the bastard knew what Medic would do to him, if only he _could_ do it, _if only_ they were not on the same team…

He was jarred yet again out of his thoughts by the signal to start the battle, hesitating for a moment before following the rest of the team into combat. He could hear the loud revving of Heavy's minigun, that dull thrumming that was so familiar to him and seemed to be ever-present in the background of battle. He could hear Solider barking commands (not like anyone listened to him), the whoosh of Spy cloaking behind him, the hiss of Pyro's flamethrower ready to spew flames… But everything seemed so…quiet. Medic frowned.

Something _missing._

It took him a few moments to pick out what was so wrong, and when he realized it, the weight returned to his chest, crushing him under the throbbing, burning pain.

The clang of Scout's bat against the walls (something that had always annoyed the man of science before) was gone, as were his loudmouthed insults that poured out in a constant stream during combat. The rapid tapping of his cleats on the floor, and his cheerful thanks when Medic trained the medigun on the little red blur for a moment when he was hurt. He saw the image of Scout laying still and cold on the sterile metal table in his mind's eye again, and Medic staggered, managing to lean into a wall before he collapsed.

Medic pushed against the wall weakly, shaking his head to try and remove that painful vision from his mind, but it was futile. He stood there shaking for a few minutes, angry with himself at the sudden weakness, Spy for his infuriating ways (why did he keep thinking about that), and…the man who was to blame.

The BLU Sniper.

Medic rubbed a gloved hand across his forehead and righted himself, managing to stay steady and upright. That was right…It was that Sniper's fault, he had taken away Scout, put a bullet in his brain and whisked him away in a misty cloud of red droplets and spattered brain matter. Medic made his way through the wooden-walled hallways of the ground floor of the base, stepping out the door. A few bullets thudded harmlessly into the wall a foot or two to his right, but they weren't meant for him anyway, the other team hadn't even seen him yet.

The Sniper would pay for taking away Medic's son—

_No._ No. _Scout._ Medic bit his lip and adjusted his glasses. He clearly wasn't thinking right, he needed to relax. He needed some sort of…catharsis, something to vent his anger on. He scanned the battlements carefully from behind his round glasses, shifted his grip on the saw in his hands, and then made his way toward the edge of the moat of murky water under the bridge. Taking a deep breath, he slid into the cool, chest- high water and made his way to the massive sewer pipe that led inside the enemy base.

His boots sloshed in the shallow water at his feet after he climbed into the pipe, his heavy breathing and heartbeat pounding in his ears, echoing in the pipe. Surely the other team had heard the sound and were coming to get him; his breath was so loud… He shook his head, growling to himself to buck up, you'll be fine, you've ventured out on your own before.

He made his way out of the pipeline without incident, before taking a small break to wring the water out of his coat. This was one of the reasons he hated using the pipelines; he always got so wet and dirty. After getting himself at least a tiny bit drier than before, Medic sighed and started on his way again.

But just as soon as he started walking, he was nearly bowled over by a blur of blue. The doctor let out a yell, swinging his Übersaw in a panic at the sudden impact, managing to graze fabric and flesh with a faint ripping sound. The target of the wild swing let out his own cry and moved backwards, a bandaged hand clutched over his blue-shirted chest. The BLU Scout stared at the RED Medic, and the Medic stared back, both standing in silence.

The Scout was shaking slightly, a dark stain slowly spreading from the shallow cut onto his hand and shirt. He was clutching a wooden bat in his other hand, knuckles white on the handle. The boy looked like he couldn't decide if he should hit the Medic over the head with it, or just run, and Medic noted that the muscles in his neck were taut, and his face flushed; he was _scared_. He moved to swing the saw again, making the Scout flinch and let out a strangled curse, throwing up both his hands to brace his head for impact; a defensive instinct.

Medic took a step closer to the boy, a smile growing on his lips. He could just smell the fear pouring off the teen, who had removed his hands from his head to instead clutch franticly at the bat, leaving a smear of crimson blood on the right side of his hat and face from the hand that had been holding his chest.

Medic froze.

Again in his mind's eye, he saw the body of his poor little Scout sprawled out of the table, that bloody hole in his head, the wound that Medic had to push his fingers in to remove the bullet, the act that had nearly made him puke. His poor little Scout, who had been so lively and fun and friendly towards him, even if the doctor had been strict and stiff at times, who didn't _deserve_ to die like that.

He could feel the tears coming again, and, forgetting that there was a BLU in front of him, he lowered his saw to wipe his eyes.

Scout saw his chance to escape and took it, however, swinging his bat into the Medic's gut with a great deal of force from years of baseball practice. The blow made Medic keel over, gagging and trying not to vomit all over his boots and the floor. The Scout then landed another blow, this time to the doctor's back, making the medigun backpack let out a crack and the older man fall to his knees, coughing and groaning in pain. Another powerful blow to the back of his head, and Medic couldn't see or think straight anymore; his world was spinning and full of sharp points of light and a jagged pain like something in his head was broken and _leaking_ and oh god make it stop.

Medic heard his Übersaw clatter to the ground, but his vision and hearing were starting to blur and make everything feel like he was underwater. He thought he saw something like a pair of feet swim into view before him, and he tried to look up at who they belonged to. He could just barely make out the shape of the Scout who had just tried to beat his skull in (and probably done a damn good job), who was clutching his chest where he had been cut. The BLU glared down at the Medic, getting a bit dizzy himself, but managed to land a square kick to the older man's face with a sickening crack, wrenching a sharp scream from the man.

"I _hate _doctors," the Scout wheezed, before bolting back as fast as he could to his own infirmary.

Medic curled into himself on the cold floor (it was quite refreshing), falling to his side will a dull thump and letting his head (it felt so _heavy_) rest on the cement. His face felt so warm, wet sticky blood oozing from his shattered nose and skull, his head spinning. He was slowly losing consciousness, his pain-wracked mind struggling to stay awake.

"I vill see you…soon…mein Sohn," he managed to choke out, before the tantalizing wisps of nothingness that tugged at the edges of his mind took over.

* * *

When Medic came to, his head was _throbbing_. He grunted, making a move to clutch his head, when a large hand gently pressed his arm back to the bed. The man sat there, confused, for a few moments, that rough, warm hand stroking the back of his own. He kept his eyes shut, trying to calm the dull pulse of pain in his head, but at least it wasn't as bad as it had been before. He was shaken from his haze by a low, gentle voice at his right.

"Ya alright Doc? You're lucky that Spah stumbled across you before ya bled out. Took a nasty beating, looks like."

Medic groaned and opened his eyes, staring dully at the Engineer sitting at the bedside. A quick scan of the walls around him and the man in front of his confirmed that he was safe in his own base, and he relaxed. He was now aware of a soft, warm feeling on his chest, and glanced down, making a small noise when he saw the flickering red beam of his own medigun locked on his chest. The gun itself was sitting in Engineer's lap. The Texan noticed medic's gaze and cracked a small smile, patting the medigun gently with his gloved hand.

"I'm the only one besides you who could work her. She's a fine machine, but a bit finicky. I had ta fix up the backpack too, but it should be fine now," Engineer said softly, adjusting the angle of the beam so it focused on Medic's head. "How's that feel?"

"Better…" Medic groaned, trying to relax. The warm caress of the beam was rather nice, he had to admit, and was something he didn't get a chance to feel often.

He glanced toward the small clock he kept on the desk in the corner of the infirmary; it was pretty late at night, the day's fighting done, and he had missed dinner. Today hadn't been a very good day, he had to admit. It was rather humiliating to have taken such a brutal beating from the other team's youngest member, and to have _Spy_ be the one to find him like that? He felt a twinge of anger claw its way into his gut, mixing with the ever-present nausea that had lingered since the autopsy.

Perhaps tomorrow would end better.


End file.
